


I know the kindest thing is to (never) leave you alone

by Elisexyz



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: But He is Good at Hugs, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia is Bad at Feelings, Grief/Mourning, Pre-Slash, Sad Jaskier | Dandelion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:00:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24663478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elisexyz/pseuds/Elisexyz
Summary: He only knows how to deal with people’s grief when it comes in insults and objects thrown his way.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 58
Kudos: 241





	I know the kindest thing is to (never) leave you alone

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by [this post](https://some-stars.tumblr.com/post/619409842499649536/), it was an excellent idea and [some_stars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/some_stars/pseuds/some_stars) was nice enough to let me turn it into a fic, so... enjoy!  
>    
>  (And yes, the title is from "The Rockrose and the Thistle" by The Amazing Devil, I swear I try not to use their lyrics too much even though I hate titling things, _but it fits too well_.)

Geralt is still not sure why he agreed to come. Nearing the beginnings of winter, they were coincidentally travelling on the path to Oxenfurt and, seeing how they’d part ways soon regardless, Jaskier decided that he’d go directedly there, instead of keeping at it for a little longer.

He also insisted that Geralt should accompany him, since he isn’t short on coin and _we’re so near, come on_ and _you’ve never been to the Academy_ and _please, Geralt?_

He found no solid reason to disappoint him, and, well, perhaps there will be some work for him in the area, you never know. Jaskier’s delighted smile made him feel oddly satisfied with his decision.

When they arrive at the Academy, where apparently Jaskier has his own room waiting for him, Geralt gets a lot of attention.

Probably not as much as Jaskier, who exchanges a few hugs, more handshakes and a _lot_ of pleasantries – even with people that five seconds later make him turn around and mutter ‘That one’s a real arse’, low enough for only Geralt’s ears to catch –, but a Witcher walking around is bound to attract more than a few eyes.

Still, the stares are mostly curious, Jaskier’s friends look somehow pleased to ‘finally’ meet him, and though Geralt never much likes being the centre of attention, at least it is the good kind. Besides, Jaskier is an expert at monopolizing conversations, he never leaves him under scrutiny for too long.

Getting to Jaskier’s room still fills Geralt with relief, the closed door muffling all the sounds of life outside. Jaskier keeps chattering away about all the things that he _absolutely_ needs to show him and the people that they _must_ meet up with, even as he sits down on his bed and starts looking through the letters that have been given to him at his arrival, and he’s so enthusiastic that it brings a bit of a smile to Geralt’s face, as his eyes linger around the room, studying it.

It's a little messy, in the way he had honestly expected from Jaskier: there are books crammed together, pieces of paper hidden between them, useless trinkets that he probably collected from his travels, a frankly _insane_ amount of leather journals — he is so busy contemplating everything that it takes him a little too long to notice that Jaskier has gone suspiciously silent.

When he turns to him, he finds him staring at a letter in his hands, a little wide-eyed, unmoving.

That is — not good.

“Jaskier?”

That gets his attention, and as he looks up it becomes evident that he is _upset_. Or perhaps somewhere _beyond_ upset. He hasn’t said a word yet.

“What’s wrong?” Geralt prompts then, his eyes falling to the letter in his hands, if only for a moment. It doesn’t feel smart to take his eyes off him for too long, he might miss something.

Jaskier looks back down to the letter too, opening his mouth to answer only to close it again. “Oh, uhm, yes, I —” He shakes his head. “I have my letters delivered here, it’s the only stable address I have.”

Geralt raises his eyebrows. “I noticed that.”

“Yes, right, well —” He takes a breath, looking back down on the letter once again. “It’s, uhm, from my parents. About one of my cousins, most of them are pricks, really, most of my family in its _entirety_ is made out of pricks, actually, I am not sure where I came from, nice and charming as I am —” He trials off, attempting to send a smile his way, but Geralt doesn’t react to the poor attempt at humour. “Right,” Jaskier mutters then, looking down on the letter once again. “Apparently there was a bit of an accident, and my cousin, she, uhm, she died.”

Ah, fuck.

“I suppose I missed the funeral,” Jaskier adds then, his smile horribly strained as he shrugs. “This is from three months ago.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“I’m sorry,” Geralt manages to get out, in decent time, because it feels like a good enough starting point.

“Thank you,” Jaskier says, quietly, his eyes skimming over the letter _again_. Geralt isn’t sure if he should be concerned about that.

He deals with death on a regular basis, but he’s usually the one doing the killing. He’s lost people, people he cared about, people he merely wanted to save, he’s _seen_ humans mourn — the problem is that generally those humans deal with their grief by blaming him – usually understandably so – for their loss. He only knows how to deal with people’s grief when it comes in insults and objects thrown his way.

Jaskier is silent, he doesn’t look like he’s paying much attention to him at all, and Geralt _knows_ that he should do something to comfort him, but he’s not good at being comforting, he’s not _built_ for that.

He thinks back to the man, a professor, one of the first people to have welcomed them, that Jaskier hugged more fiercely than all the others combined. He seems like a good friend, someone that could be useful here — fuck, he wishes he had paid more attention to the introductions, what was his name?

“Would you like me to go get someone?” Geralt eventually asks, stretching his fingers, his hands itchy as if they too knew that he is supposed to be doing _something_ with this situation.

Jaskier looks up to him, eyes glassy as he presses his lips together. “Uhm, no,” he quickly gets out, even shaking his head for emphasis. “No, I’m good.”

Geralt nods. Okay. Perhaps he just wants to be alone, he can absolutely understand that. “Alright,” he says, quietly. “Then I’ll just —” He makes a brief gesture towards the door, taking a step in its direction, making it clear that he is going to make himself scarce and leave him some space, but Jaskier doesn’t seem to agree.

“Wait!” he immediately perks up, sounding a little panicky and moving to the edge of the bed, just short of actually standing up. “I — actually, I’d like you to stay?” he says then, somewhat hesitant yet hopeful. “If you don’t mind?”

Geralt does mind. Not because he doesn’t _want_ to help, but because he knows _can’t_. If Jaskier doesn’t wish to be alone, there are a lot of people out there better suited for this. If he were to walk outside and grab the first person walking by, chances are _they_ would be a better choice.

Death is hard enough on humans without setting a Witcher loose on them to cause more problems than he knows how to solve. It would be wise to avoid any additional harm, under the circumstances.

Then again, Jaskier has never been particularly good at _wise_.

In fact, a smile breaks on Jaskier’s face, fond and a lot more sincere than the previous ones. “Don’t worry, you don’t have to say anything. I just — I’d like to have you here, that’s all.”

Geralt doesn’t have the words nor the will to refuse him, so, against his better judgement, he nods.

It takes a few moments of awkwardly standing around for him to decide to move closer, taking a seat on the bed as well. If Jaskier wants him to _be there_ , then he will be. He is a tactile person, he might appreciate his physical presence in his general vicinity.

Jaskier turns to him with a thankful smile, even as more tears seem to gather in his eyes and sadness comes off him in waves, then he turns his eyes back to his hands, to the letter carefully held between his fingers, and he draws in a shaky breath. He seems to be leaning in Geralt’s direction, and he isn’t sure if it’s an _invitation_ , but Jaskier has never been particularly shy about shouting from the rooftops when something doesn’t sit well with him, and the helplessness is already eating Geralt up inside, so he figures — might as well try it.

He carefully throws one arm around Jaskier’s shoulders, giving him plenty of time to slip away. Jaskier leans into it instead, only waiting a few seconds before turning around, the letters thrown aside as instead he wraps his arms around Geralt’s torso, burying his face in his shoulder.

It is only natural for Geralt to draw him closer in response, locking his arms around him and squeezing as if he could somehow make him _smaller_ , easier to shield. Jaskier is helping, with the way he is trying to sink into him.

Jaskier doesn’t bother being quiet as he sniffles, a shudder going through him as he nuzzles against Geralt’s shoulder, maybe trying to wipe his eyes without letting go of him.

Geralt doesn’t have any words to help, though not for a lack of trying, because he doesn’t think that he has ever wished so hard for an inclination towards poetry. Touching is still kind of foreign too, but it comes much easier, so he doesn’t hesitate long before reaching up with one hand, running his fingers through Jaskier’s hair, because that always helps _him_ relax, when Jaskier insists on helping him out because _it’s a crime not to take care of all that beautiful,_ gorgeous _hair_ and _don’t you ruin my poetry by leaving me no choice but chopping it all off, long silver locks are good for business, Geralt_.

He uses his other arm to keep Jaskier secured against his chest, not that he seems to have any intention of trying to leave, and eventually he feels him relax further and further into it, until he’s basically slumped against him, breathing shakily against his neck.

“You know, you give excellent hugs,” Jaskier eventually says, and only when the silence is broken does Geralt realize just how _weird_ it had been. He takes a mental note to refrain from commenting on how much he craves peace and quiet, at least for a few days.

“Hmm.”

Jaskier snorts, shifting a little in his arms. Geralt gives him a little more freedom to move, wondering if he is trying to signal that he wants to get away.

Apparently not, though, because not only Jaskier doesn’t stop clinging to him, but he actually asks: “Can I take advantage for just a little while longer?” His voice is uncharacteristically hesitant and tiny, and Geralt really wants to break something.

Instead, he tightens his hold once again, getting out a gruff: “I have nowhere else to be.”

Jaskier exhales in blatant relief, nodding against his shoulder. His ‘thank you’ sounds achingly sincere.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates comments, including: 
> 
>   * Short comments
>   * Long comments
>   * Questions
>   * “<3” as extra kudos
>   * Reader-reader interaction
> 

> 
> If you don’t want a reply, for any reason, feel free to sign your comment with “whisper” and I will appreciate it but not respond!


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